


Start Of Time

by redditch17



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Love, Platonic Relationships, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redditch17/pseuds/redditch17
Summary: Lydia Martin is a strong and independent young woman.Lydia Martin is composed and rational 99.9% of the time.That little 0.1% of mental instability and impulse? That's all caused by Stiles.





	Start Of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Kate and this is my first time uploading one of my little writing things, so I thought we'd start off with some Stydia because who doesn't love that?
> 
> I'm hoping to maybe turn this into a mini-series, but I'm not sure how confident I am in developing this little story just yet - also I have exams and shit so my upload schedule is about to get wild.
> 
> Please feel free to point out any grammar or spelling or contextual info that's wrong: I'm not American but I do have a soft spot in my heart for San Diego, which is why I set this there (if Beacon Hills is in Cali then I'm not too far off anyway). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I'll see what I can do to develop this little plot line as best I can :)

'Shit, I'm late,' was something Lydia was not used to saying.

She was perfectly punctual for every event, and in turn, could be counted on by friends, family and acquaintances alike. She turned homework in on time, scheduled her revision into neat, four hour long time frames, and turned up for dental appointments with a good fifteen minutes to spare for a chat with Mallory at the reception desk. So, arriving at Sorrento Valley Station just in time for the last train of the night to leave - and in the opposing direction of her desired destination - was an experience that she'd never had to handle before.

La Jolla was a two hour walk, and Lydia was fully unprepared to strut the freeway home in the day, let alone at this time of night. This time of night was currently 12.37AM. She sighed a huff through rosy, blown out cheeks with a three-hundred-and-sixty degree pivot, scanning the station for a single soul. None.

With her phone battery conveniently dead, and six-inch heels on feet that were ready to slide into warm slippers, she was playing with the thought of sleeping on the platform floor and catching the earliest train home tomorrow morning, but something inside her forbid her from sitting on the concrete.

Lydia Martin does not sleep in train stations. Not in this skirt anyway.

Her brain whirred with thought and when she had one, she made her way to a payphone tucked behind a locked up coffee kiosk. A couple of coins dropped into the bank and she dialled her best friend's number from heart - memorised from years of telephone calls via the landline since they were thirteen.

"Who's this?" A voice could just be made out from the background of dance music and chatter of a party.

"It's Lydia."

"Lydia!" the last letter of her name was dragged out, and she could picture the scene - her friend grinning widely and steadying herself via the shelf above the fireplace in her living room, "why'd you leave, Lyd, it's so boring without you- Isaac! Get down from there! And why are you calling from an unknown number?"

"My phone is dead and I have no ride home, Allison, I have no idea what to do. Is anyone there still sober and coming home?" Lydia's perfectly shaped eyebrows knotted together in a mixture of exasperation and irritation - replaying tonight's events over in her head and wondering why in hell she and her friends thought it was a good idea to crash a party almost twi-and-a-half hours away.

"Uhm-" Allison hummed, before her phone hit the floor. There was a crackle on the line and all Lydia could hear was the thumping bassline of the party.

'Great,' Lydia thought, and was about to hang up, before a boy's voice appeared on the other end, "Hello?"

"Scott?"

"Lydia? Why are you calling from an unknown number?"

"I'm at a payphone in Sorrento Valley Station, I missed the last train. Is anyone coming home that could get me?"

"Lydia Martin, was late, for her train? That's something I thought I'd never hear. Well, I'm about to leave now with Allison, she's just passed out on me - I can pick you up if you want? Or, Stiles left about an hour after you did?"

Lydia thought for a second, before coming to a conclusion, "can you call Stiles and see if he'd drop by me on his way home? He'll be closer."

It was a long shot, considering she knew that Stiles had a habit of throwing all his belongings into the back seat of his Jeep so he didn't get distracted on the road - there was something about the ADHD that made him want to fiddle with things. "Yeah, of course - if by chance I can't get a hold of him I'll swing by on our way back."

"Thank you, Scott."

"It's why I'm the Alpha."

"Don't act like if you could get as drunk as Allison, you wouldn't." Lydia rolled her eyes with a small smile.

"Okay, Miss Martin," she heard him chuckle, "stay safe, I'm calling Stilinski."

"Bye McCall." Lydia hung up and breathed deeply, before walking out of the station to wait for her ride. 'Well, tonight has been a mess,' Lydia thought as her heels clacked on concrete.

Lydia stopped outside the station, waiting patiently on the corner, legs freezing in a short blue skirt. She didn't feel safe. She felt like eyes were watching her.

"Hey, little darlin'." A raspy voice filled her ears while a large warm hand squeezed her waist. Cheap beer and an overwhelming odour of aftershave radiated in the air around Lydia - who didn't move, avoiding eye contact, stiffening her shoulders and breathing short, shallow breaths.

"Now, now, now. What's a pretty little thing like you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Huh?" The man tucked a piece of her long, red hair behind her ear and, though she made no eye contact, she could feel the man smiling with hunger.

"Wanna come home with me tonight? I'll make it worth your while..."

She could also feel the smile drop from his face when he realised that Lydia wouldn't be coming home with him.

"Prude." The man's hand squeezed its way down her waist to her butt, before he sauntered off into the night. Lydia had had a lot of practice with men like him, so it wasn't that that was making her bottom lip tremble.

She was cold, tired, and still a little tipsy off Jack Daniels. It was the Jack Daniels that made her cry. Lydia hated crying, so she only did so when it was absolutely necessary - or of course, when it was alcohol induced. She thought about Jackson leaving her, and how she'd never felt such pain, but also never felt such a need to put on a brave face. There were bigger problems in her life that she had to deal with - like keeping her friends safe. So, as she sat down on the curb outside a train station, far from home and far from her friends, there was nothing stopping her from having a small breakdown.

Only a tiny, little one. Her mascara was Lancôme.

She made no sound: her shoulders stuttered a little with whimpers; big, round tears falling from big, round eyes. She looked up to the sky to try and force them back in, but it was no use. Lydia was empty, without her homicidal Kanima of a boyfriend, and she couldn't think of any way to patch the hole left in her heart.

"I've just seen the seediest looking guy, Lydia you'd not believe th-" The sound of a half-busted engine spluttered quietly beside her, and Lydia quickly patted her cheeks dry of tears and stood up, knowing completely that it was totally obvious that she'd just been sobbing her heart out to herself in a neighbourhood she didn't know. "Get in the Jeep, Lyds." Stiles said, softer this time, and she had to stop herself from running to the truck, 'Now, that would be pathetic'.

Lydia clambered up into the Jeep, eyes locked straight ahead on the headlight-lit road ahead of them.

"Is your mom home?" Stiles asked.

Lydia shook her head, "Weekend in Prague," she whispered as Stiles started the engine and they began moving, "why'd you leave the party?"

"Why'd you leave?" He retorted, catching her eye for a second before turning his attention back to the road.

"I got a headache", Lydia lied - glad that it wasn't Scott she was talking to. Stiles couldn't hear her heartbeat.

"Lydia, I might not have super were-hearing, but I know four things. I know that you drank three whiskey and Coke's, as well as seven shots of Jack Daniels. I know that whiskey makes you emotional. I also know that the majority of the party was made up of couples. And I know that you're missing Jackson. You don't have to lie to me." Stiles' hands slid down the steering wheel to a more comfortable position and he shifted in his seat a little; his new position facing her just a little more.

"What if a lie is less of a burden than the truth?" Lydia rolled her head back on the head-rest to face him, watching his eyes dart from the road, to her, his blind spot, the rear-view mirror, and then back to tarmac.

"I promise you, Martin, that your life is not a burden to me. Especially if it means that it stops you from crying outside railway stations in the middle of the night. What would you have done if there was no payphone?" His hands gently rocked the wheel to one side as he guided them onto the freeway, obviously changing the subject, but Lydia didn't mind.

"I don't know... Sleep on a bench on the platform, probably."

"A bench? That is so bad for your posture," Stiles replied incredulously.

"My posture is the least of my worries when there are creepy old men wandering around, ready to feel me up."

"He didn't!?" Stiles whipped his head to face her for a second, eyes wide.

"Totally did. I would have gone home with him too, he was so hot, you're a total cockblock," Lydia shifted on her side in her seat to face Stiles properly.

"You better be joking, Martin, or I'll turn this truck around and drop you off at his house," he grinned into the moonlit road.

"You don't know where he lives!" Lydia smiled, biting her bottom lip between her teeth as Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Of course I do, it's 278 McCreepy Boulevard, Sleazeville, San Diego," he replied matter-of-factly, and Lydia giggled, feeling her mood improving whilst watching the streetlights cast shadows over his cheekbones, before she jolted in realisation.

"Stiles, my turn off was back there," Lydia sat up, watching her street fade into the distance through the back window of the Jeep. Lydia noticed that there was nothing on the back seat, and she turned to look in his lap, where his phone sat, resting in between his thighs.

"Martin, do you seriously think I'm about to let you sleep in an empty house, all by yourself? Dad's working a night shift, you're staying with me."

"This is kidnapping," Lydia responded, but smiled thankfully.

Within the next hour, Lydia was sat, showered, in one of Stiles' t-shirts, wet hair piled up in a bun, with a bowl of popcorn and a can of Bud, nestled in the corner of his bed, her back against the wall. She heard the water shut off in the bathroom, and waited for Stiles to come in, soaking wet, in a towel.

And that he did, however in a pair of grey track pants. He wasn't ripped, like Jackson, but he was heavily toned (thanks to lacrosse practice four times a week) and his shoulders flexed attractively as he dug around in his chest of drawers for a shirt, glistening with a sheen of water. Something stirred inside her - she'd never felt this way toward Stiles before. Maybe it was the beer-induced buzz she was feeling burn in her stomach; or maybe it was something more? Or maybe it was the tether increasing in intensity due to his closeness? All that Lydia knew, was that looking at Stiles felt warm.

He must have felt her eyes on his back, because when he'd stretched a nicely fitting black shirt over his head, he spun around, quipping, "I'm not a piece of meat Lydia."

Lydia rolled her eyes, "you love the attention," and flipped the corner of the duvet back on itself, motioning for him to join her.

"I'll take the floor, its fine."

She knew it wasn't right to let him sleep on the floor, but something was telling her to stay quiet and not protest. She told him goodnight and rolled over to face the wall as he flicked off the light.

"Goodnight, Martin."


End file.
